


Mimbulus mimbletonia and Other Unusual Plants

by Lady_Slytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Slytherin/pseuds/Lady_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville's doing the best he can.  It's harder than you'd think, having spell damaged parents.  Combine that with the everyday traumas that come with being fifteen (bad grades, no dating prospects, evil bitch-faced teachers) and you've got a recipe for what's shaping up to the be worst year ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Neville sat on the stiff chair, holding his mother’s hand. “Hi, mum,” he said. “How are you? School’s starting next week. Can you believe I’ll be a fifth year? O.W.L. year. I’m so nervous. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

Alice Longbottom smiled absently, like a toddler who was pretending to listen. She never spoke, but Neville couldn’t help but hope that one day she would. It wouldn’t matter if she was reassuring him about school or berating him for being such a worrywart. It would just be nice to know what her voice sounded like.

“I still have your wand,” he said, looking across the bed to where his father lay. Frank Longbottom was a little more responsive than his wife, but in such a way that it might have been easier if he weren’t. He yelled, and threw fits, demanding to be let out. He sometimes thought that he was in Azkaban, and screamed at invisible dementors to leave him alone. Most of the time, though, he just sat staring sullenly out the window. “Maybe it’ll help me learn more of the amazing magic you did with it.”

Neville’s mum bolted up right, and, as though it were something terribly important for her to do, reached over to her night table and picked up several gum wrappers, which she handed to him.

“Thanks, mum,” he said, standing up. He knew that he had to leave, before he started to cry. Even though his parents wouldn’t know what it meant, he couldn’t bear to cry in front of them. “Gran, I think I’m ready to go now.”

“Very well.” She stood briskly. “Goodbye, Frank. Goodbye, Alice.” As they left, she asked Neville, “Would there be any point in me telling you to throw out those wrappers?”

“No, there wouldn’t.” It was the one thing that Neville was willing to fight with her about. These wrappers were going into the box with all of the others his mum had given him.

All three hundred and fifty-two of them.

“Now, we need to stop at Diagon Alley for school supplies. you could do with some new robes, as well.” They descended a flight of stairs. “What books do you need for this year?”

“ _Defensive Magical Theory _and _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six _,” Neville recited.____

“None of that monster book rubbish this year, then? Honestly, I don’t know what that professor was thinking. Not thinking at all, no doubt. Now, you really ought to try out for your House Quidditch team this year, Neville. Minerva wrote me and owl saying that there was a position open this year.” They passed several snickering photographs and continued down the stairs to the atrium.

“Gran, I don’t want to play Quidditch.” 

“And why not? It’s good enough for Harry Potter, isn’t it? You know, I worry about you sometimes. Why don’t you ever join in things?”

“I was in Gobstones Club during second year,” Neville protested.

Mrs. Longbottom brushed that aside. “Your father was an excellent Quidditch player.”

“Dad was good at a lot of things,” Neville said quietly.

“This discussion isn’t over,” she said, raising her wand to hail the Knight Bus.

This trip to Diagon Alley was no different from any of the others. They started at Gringotts and went systematically through all of the stores they needed to for Neville’s things.

Not Ollivander’s, though. Neville had never even set foot in Ollivander’s.

When they had finished shopping, Neville’s grandmother took him to Fortescue’s for ice cream. She had been at school with Florean Fortescue, and loved to tease him about his misdoings.

“You got caught after hours so much, you ought to have been in Gryffindor!” she chuckled, placing their orders for two small Dragon Delights, with extra caramel, no whipped cream.

“Why not a Slytherin? Slytherins are supposed to break the rules the most, aren’t they?” Neville asked as Fortescue left to fill their order. They were seated outside at a small white table. 

“Oh, no, a Slytherin would never have been caught,” she said, adjusting their umbrella so that they were in the shade. “Actually, all of the Houses besides Hufflepuff managed to break an exceptional number of rules during my time there.” Augusta Longbottom had been a Hufflepuff.

When Fortescue returned, she continued their conversation as though he had never left. “You used to drive the Prefects crazy. The McKinnon girl- what was her name?”

“Samantha,” he supplied.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Samantha McKinnon once told me that she wished you’d never been born, what with all of the paperwork she had to fill out on your account. There was that time she caught you in a broom cupboard with your hands all over—”

Fortescue coughed loudly. “Well, Augusta, it’s been wonderful catching up, but I’ve got other customers waiting to be served, so if you’ll excuse me…” He bustled off, clearly eager not to hear the end of this story. 

Neville ate his ice cream, quietly reflecting on how different his grandmother was around people her own age. She would never joke about it if he were ever caught in a broom cupboard with a girl.

Not that that seemed particularly likely, with all the luck he’d had with girls. Ginny had accepted his invitation to the Yule Ball only because she wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise, and she’d spent the whole time dancing with some Ravenclaw guy. That was pretty much Neville’s only experience with dating.

“Hello, Neville,” said Hannah Abbott, walking across the street to talk. “Hello, Mrs. Longbottom. Is it all right if I sit here with you for a little while?”

“As long as it’s all right with your mother.”

“Oh, I told her I was coming over to talk to you.”

“How’s your summer?” Neville asked. He had spent enough time with Hannah to feel totally at ease with her. They had met when they were seven years old and his gran and Hannah’s mother had been in book group together.

“It’s been okay, considering.”

“I guess everyone in Hufflepuff is still hurting, after…”

“Yeah.”

Augusta clicked her tongue. “If only Dumbledore had been able to uncover everything before it was too late- but I suppose it does no good to dwell on the past, now does it?”

Neville shook his head, hoping that she wouldn’t start in on her rant. Much as he agreed with her he didn’t want to hurt Hannah’s feelings if she disagreed, and he preferred not to discuss controversial things in public.

But his grandmother had never quite grasped the concept of tact. “And now the Ministry’s working to discredit him, and that poor Harry Potter, he’s getting the worst of it. A bunch of spineless no-gooders, the lot of them. I should march in there and tell them how to do their jobs.”

Neville shrugged apologetically, but Hannah smiled. “I don’t quite know what to think, she admitted. “But I know that the things the Prophet’s saying about Harry are utter rubbish.”

Augusta slapped her hand on the table. “Exactly! How they could see being present during someone’s death as begging for attention- spineless no-gooders, through and through. I’ve decided that I won’t have it in my house under any circumstances. Neville and I have cancelled our subscription.”

_She says that as though I had helped her make that choice. _But Neville didn’t mind. He actually thought that in this case, his grandmother had been exactly right.__

“Well, I should be going,” Hannah said, standing up. “Oh, Neville, one more thing. Did you get made a Prefect?”

Neville looked down at his ice cream. “No.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping that we’d have Prefect duties together. Goodbye, Neville. Mrs. Longbottom.”

Neville’s grandmother patted his hand as they watched Hannah leave. “Don’t worry about not making Prefect. If Harry Potter weren’t in your House- but as it is, it’s only to be expected. That boy deserves some happiness after all he’s been put through, and he’s so talented. Taking on a dragon when he was only fourteen years old! Not to mention all he’s done to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

“I know, Gran.” It was usually best to get her off this topic as quickly as possible, because she could go on for hours if encouraged.

“I just think that it must be hard for him to go through everything he does. Are you finished with your ice cream?”

“Yes.”

Augusta motioned for Fortescue to return. “We’re ready to pay.”

“Very well.” He waited patiently as she counted out several knuts and placed them in his hand.

The next several days were relatively calm. Neville struggled over his potions essay that he’d put off until the last minute. Towards the end of August, his Great-Uncle Algie came over for dinner.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, depositing a package on Neville’s lap. “I got you something. Consider it a belated birthday present.” He had been in Assyria for Neville’s actual birthday. “Go on. Open it.”

Neville placed the parcel on the table and peeled off the paper. Inside was a box that had air holes poked into the top. His last gift that had come with air holes had been Trevor, but with all the luck he’d had keeping track of him, Neville highly doubted that he was getting another pet. 

“Oh, wow!” Neville said, opening the box. “Is that—”

“A _Mimbulus mimbletonia, _” Algie replied proudly. “Bought it off an herbologist in Assyria. He breeds them, you know. One of the last people who still does, actually. They reproduce asexually, so with a bit of research, you might be able to get more. You could give one to a girl you want to impress.” He winked.__

Neville rolled his eyes. He had long since given up trying to convince his Great-Uncle Algie that there was no girl he wanted to impress. “When’s dinner, Gran?” he called.

She came through the door from the kitchen. “Ten minutes. It would be done sooner if you had offered to help.”

“I’ll help you cook tomorrow. I promise,” Neville said.

“I also got you this,” Algie said, pulling a large book out of the pocket of his traveling coat. “The man at the store said it should give you decent information on how to care for that plant. I’d be absolutely baffled but the directions that it gives, but you’ve always had a head for Herbology.”

“Thanks, Uncle Algie.”

“Any time, kiddo.”

On August 31, Neville went to visit his parents one last time before school started.

“Hi Mum. Hi, Dad,” he said quietly. Neville always found it hard to talk to them like they could understand, no matter what the healers said. He knelt awkwardly by the bed. “Great-Uncle Algie gave me a _Mimbulus mimbletonia _for my birthday. I wish that I could bring it to show you, but Gran won’t let me. It’s a shame, because it’s really amazing.” He launched into a detailed explanation of all the things his plant could do, but what he was really thinking was that he wished they could have been there for his birthday. Just for one day. That would be enough.__

Frank was muttering from his side of the bed, but Neville didn’t bother listening. His rambling never made sense, and hearing him sounding so incoherent hurt Neville. That was why he always sat by his mother’s side of the bed.

“Gran wants me to try out for the Quidditch team. There’s a position open, but I’m not sure which one. I’m not sure yet, but I guess it could be fun.” 

He stood, even though he had only been there for a few minutes. “I’m ready to go now, Gran. Goodbye, Mum. Bye, Dad.”

Even though he wouldn’t see his parents for weeks, Neville couldn’t stay any longer. He could never bring himself to stay. Sometimes it made him angry, and he wished that he could be stronger for them. But mostly, his parents weren’t a very large part of his life. He wished they were, but there wasn’t a way to change that. Sometimes he though things would be easier if they were really dead, rather than in this horrible half state. He always felt guilty after thinking that. Anyways, his grandmother had always said that the things worth fighting for never were easy.

Sometimes, though, Neville wished that things could be easy.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you _sure _you have everything?” Augusta asked, sounding doubtful. “I don’t want to have to send Calo with a lot of things this year. You know she’s getting too old to carry much.” Calo was the family owl.__

Neville ran his finger down the carefully written list. “I’ve packed everything here, Gran.”

“Very good.” She smiled approvingly. “Now, if you make the Quidditch team, owl me with the list of equipment you’ll need and your broom preference. It’ll be a little pricy, but I think we can afford to spend a little extra for a special occasion.”

“Okay,” Neville agreed, knowing that it was kind of a moot point, seeing as his odds of making the team were slim.

His grandmother stood and patted his shoulder. “Be sure to get a good night’s sleep. You want to be well rested for your first day back. I’ll send whatever you’ve forgotten by the end of next week.”

“But Gran, we’ve checked the list—”

“I know, dear, but you have a funny habit of forgetting things despite the best planning. Use a school owl to let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“Good night, Neville.”

“Good night.”

Neville tried his best to sleep, but worries about O.W.Ls and Snape kept creeping in unbidden. When he did finally nod off, he dreamed he had missed the train and was being forced to travel to Hogwarts in a carriage with Dumbledore, Snape, and Malfoy, all of whom appeared to be the best of friends

His alarm chimed only a few hours later, and he got out of bed feeling more tired than he had when he’d gone to sleep.

Breakfast was a bagel and a glass of milk. Neville’s grandmother insisted that he drink at least one glass of milk a day, although he ignored this jurisdiction while at Hogwarts. Then they flooed to the Crackling Wand and walked the two blocks to King’s Cross station. Augusta liked to be as early as possible, so Neville was at Platform 9¾ at 10:30 sharp. 

All was quiet. One or two first years had showed up early, as first years were sometimes did, but Neville couldn’t expect to see anyone his own age this early. Having experienced this before, he quickly found his favorite bench, pulled a novel out of his trunk, and began to read.

People always expected Neville to hate reading because of how badly he performed in school, and he couldn’t really blame them for thinking that. They were wrong, though; reading was one of his favorite things. He loved losing himself in a story, fading away until he was the character. When he was younger, he’d owned a book about Harry Potter, and had read it over and over until it leaked out his ears. He’d always thought of how amazing it would be to be a hero.

Not that he had any intentions of telling Harry this, of course

After about ten minutes, more people began to arrive, making it harder for Neville to focus. That was when he probably should have given up and found a seat on the train, but instead he retreated to a secluded corner of the station, telling himself that he would just read until the end of his chapter.

Two chapters later, he looked up at the clock to find that it was only five minutes until eleven. He swore under his breath. Now he would have to rush to find a seat before the train left. He grabbed his trunk and lugged it onto the train, looking into compartments until he reached the last one. Many of them were nearly empty, but Neville had passed them by, not wanting to intrude on a group that was already there. In the past, he had always sat with Dean and Seamus, but today they had chosen to frequent the Weasley twins’ compartment. Hannah would have been a viable option except that she would be up front in the Prefects’ carriage.

He had been hoping to get a compartment to himself, or at least be the first person into a compartment, but his lateness had ruined all chances of that. So now he was standing in front of the last one, trying to work up the courage to join Loony Lovegood. Footsteps made him turn around. 

“Hi Harry. Hi, Ginny… Everywhere’s full… I can’t find a seat…” Neville crossed his fingers, hoping they wouldn’t see how empty the compartment behind him was.

No such luck. “What are you talking about?” Ginny demanded. “There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here—”

“I didn’t want to disturb her. She looks really focused,” Neville said weakly. Lovegood’s intensity scared him, truth be told. She may not have cared enough to make fun of him, but he was sure that she didn’t very much of him. Neville hated feeling like people looked down on him.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny laughed. “She’s all right.” She opened the door and stepped inside, as if it was just that easy. “Hi, Luna. Is it all right if we take these seats?”

Lovegood nodded. Neville wondered at the cheerful sound of Ginny’s voice. Was she actually that happy, or was she just doing what you’re supposed to do to keep crazy people calm?

“Thanks,” Ginny said, still in the same, too-cheerful tone. “Had a good summer, Luna?”

“Yes. Yes, it was quite enjoyable. You’re Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” Harry said, looking taken aback. Neville laughed softly. Harry probably got that all the time.

“And I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m nobody,” Neville said instantly. He hated telling people his last name. Very few people actively mad fun of him, but even the nicest people gave odd looks when he told them. 

Ginny gave him a harsh look. _Be nice, _she mouthed. “No, you’re not. Neville Longbottom— Luna Lovegood. Luna’s in my year, but in Ravenclaw.”__

_“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” _Luna singsonged.__

Nobody spoke for a while after that. Neville found himself growing less and less comfortable. Searching desperately for something to say, his eyes fell on his bag, where his _Mimbulus mimbletonia _hid. “Guess what I got for my birthday?” he blurted out.__

Harry, politely enough, asked if it was a new Rembembrall, which made Neville turn bright red. Not only was it embarrassing that Harry knew how forgetful he was, Neville had to tell him that he’d lost his old one. _And really, what kind of person loses a Remembrall? ___

Trying to salvage a bit of dignity, he pulled the _Mimbulus mimbletonia _out of his bag. “It’s really rare. I don’t know if there’s one at the Greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can’t wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great-Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I’m going to see if I can breed from it.” Actually, until that moment, Neville hadn’t even thought about breeding from it, but there was something about Harry that made him want to seem impressive. If Neville had done even half of the things Harry had, he’d be telling everyone he knew about it, and probably a lot of people he didn’t. But Harry didn’t even seem to want the attention.__

“Does it- er- do anything?” Harry asked.

“Loads of stuff!” Neville said, still trying to show off a bit. “It’s got a really amazing defensive mechanism- hold Trevor for me…”

He handed Trevor to a wary looking Harry. Truth be told, Neville had never tested his plant’s defense mechanism, but he knew enough from books to know that it would do something when attacked.

But how do you attack a plant? Thinking hard, he picked up a quill, found a good spot, and poked it.

The results were explosive. Stinksap shot everywhere.

“Sorry! I haven’t tried that before…. Didn’t realize it would be quite so…” Neville tried to think of something useful to say. “Don’t worry though, Stinksap’s not poisonous.”

The compartment door slid open to reveal an exceptionally pretty girl, staring nervously at Harry. “Oh… hello, Harry,” she said. “Um… bad time?”

Neville looked down at his Stinksap drenched shoes. He hadn’t felt so miserable since he’d had to show his exam scores to his Grandmother. Luckily, the girl soon left, and she didn’t seem to have even noticed him.

“Never mind,” Ginny said, looking at Neville sympathetically. “Look, we can get rid of this easy. Scourgify!”

The Stinksap was gone in an instant. Nevile had never understood Ginny’s knack for spellwork. Cleaning charms were sixth year level. He wasn’t jealous, exactly, but it was a little bit discouraging to know that a fourteen year old was better than him at virtually everything.

Neville managed not to do anything else stupid, and was starting to feel better. Lovegood still hadn’t spoken, though, and he kept watching her out of the corner of his eye. There was something about her that unnerved him.

When Ron and Hermione returned, he pulled out his _Mimbulus mimbletonia _book and chcked to make sure that Stinksap _wasn’t _poisonous. Luckily, he’d been right, so he didn’t have to tell Harry that he hadn’t been sure about that at all. Realizing that reading was the easiest way to not have to talk, he didn’t put the book away until the train reached the station.____

He got off the train quickly and hurried to get a carriage with Hannah. _She _didn’t know about his humiliation on the train. Luckily, she and Ernie were some of the first people Neville saw.__

“Hello, Neville,” said Ernie. “How was your summer?”

“Good. Yours?” Neville was sort-of friends with Ernie, but whenever he was around him, he felt like everything he said sounded moronic and dull.

“Mine went quite well, thank you.”

“Hey, Neville,” Hannah said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder bag. 

They began to walk to the carriages. As they got on, he heard Harry asking Ron, in an increasingly panicked tone, what the horse things were. Neville knew that they were called Thestrals, having asked Hagrid during his first year. He wished that he could tell Harry, assure him that he wasn’t going crazy, but that would bring up things that he didn’t want to talk about.

So he got in his carriage without a word, wondering, not for the first time, why the Sorting Hat had put him in Gryffindor.


	3. Chapter 3

Neville ran towards Gryffindor tower, Professor Umbridge’s words still running through his head. Her tone had been so patronizing, as if she didn’t truly expect them to understand a word she said! Mind you, Neville hadn’t understood everything, but he knew from Dumbledore’s face that it wasn’t good.

Harry was standing outside the common room arguing with the Fat Lady. Probably about the password. Neville ran forwards.

“Harry, I know it!” he called, glad to be able to help Harry after how stupid he’d acted on the train. “Guess what it is? I’m actually going to be able to remember it for once- _Mimbulus mimbletonia! _”__

“Correct!” said the Fat Lady. Neville beamed. This would be the first password he’d ever remembered easily. He followed Harry into the dormitory. 

“Hi,” Harry said to Dean and Seamus.

“Hey, Harry,” said Dean. “Good holiday?”

“Not bad. You?”

“Yeah, it was okay. Better than Seamus’s, anyway, he was just telling me.”

“Why, what happened, Seamus?” Neville asked. He placed the _Mimbulus mimbletonia _on his bedside table, careful not to drop it. He didn’t know what would happen if he did, but judging by its reaction to being poked, it wouldn’t be good.__

“Me mam didn’t want me to come back,” Seamus said quietly. 

“What?” Harry asked.

“She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.”

“But- why?”

Neville thought he might have a hunch. Everyone who believed that You-Know-Who was back was terrified to let the people they loved out of their sight. Naturally, parents were a bit hesitant to send their kids off to boarding school. But before he could say this, Seamus answered.

“Well, I suppose… because of you.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, she… er… Well, it’s not just you, it’s Dumbledore, too…”

Neville sat down on his bed, stunned. He’d heard the rumors, obviously, but it had never occurred to him that anyone actually _believed _them. He sat there trying to think of a response, but nothing came to mind, and before long, Ron came in. The first thing he did once he understood what was going on was to yell at Seamus.__

No. This was all wrong. You couldn’t prove your correctness to somebody by fighting with them. Even Neville knew that. You had to win them to your side with logic, common sense. Not treat them like an idiot. Not yell at them and get them all defensive so that they’re even more certain they’re right. He had to do something before things got out of hand

“… our headmaster’s been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he’s losing his marbles—”

Neville stood. “My gran says that’s rubbish. She says it’s the Daily Prophet that’s going downhill.” Everyone was looking at him now. He groped in his mind, trying to think of a point to what he was saying, or at least an argument that wasn’t ‘my gran says.’ “She’s cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,” he said in a rush.

The argument ended after that, but Neville was too tense to sleep, or even read. Listening to people fighting always made his stomach hurt. He stared at his _Mimbulus mimbletonia, _willing himself not to cry. It would be stupid to cry about a fight that didn’t even concern him.__

Eventually, his stomach stopped hurting, and he was able to fall asleep.

The next day as he was passing the notice board, Neville saw the sign announcing Quidditch tryouts. It was no surprise, then, when Calo flew into the Great Hall with not only his forgotten potions ingredients, but also a letter.

_Dear Grandson,_

_Only one missing item this year (so far.) I suppose I should see this as an improvement. Honestly, you’d forget you head if it wasn’t screwed on! If you need more ingredients later in the year, let me know and I’ll drop in at the Apothocary. I always loved Potions. Perhaps I should start brewing them more often. Professor Boarhare always said I had a knack for them. ___

_I suppose Professor Binns is still teaching History of Magic? You know, I remember when he was still alive. Quite sad we all were, when he died, but it seemed to me that he never really noticed. He was a sweet man. Pity about that voice though, he always sounded so dreary. Of course, the only class you’re really interested in is Herbology, isn’t that so? Your parents really would be so proud of your skills with plants, Neville. ___

_Minerva owled me yesterday to inform me that your House Quidditch tryouts are on Friday. If you make the team, I’ll get you a broom like I promised. The Nimbus 2000 is on an excellent sale, and it was good enough for Harry Potter. I really think you’ll be a wonderful Keeper. ___

_I’ve arranged for you to be taken out of school to visit your parents on Saturday the 29th. I will meet you at the hospital._

_Owl me if you realize you’ve forgotten anything else._

_Love,_  
 _Your Grandmother_

Neville groaned inwardly, looked at his schedule, and groaned again, this time out loud.

History of Magic was all right. It wasn’t Neville’s favorite class, but he did have a knack for remembering things, and he loved discovering patterns. But double Potions, which would have been groan-worthy on its own, followed by Divination and double Defence Against the Dark Arts? Merlin. Neville couldn’t wait for it to be sixth year so he could drop classes. 

He was really dreading having to learn from Umbridge. At least this year there was little chance of being put under the Imperius Curse. That alone was an improvement over Moody. 

Having History first thing in the morning was an entirely new experience. It had always been a class that made Neville watch the clock, and that stood true now, except that this time he was dreaming its ending. It wasn’t that he found that Giant Wars particularly enthralling, although they seemed kind of interesting. No, Neville didn’t want History of Magic to end, because when it did he would have to deal with Snape.

Potions began with Snape saying that he expected all of them to pass their Potions O.W.L (with a thinly veiled “or else” in his voice) and ended with Neville making a potion so thick that he could barely get it out of the cauldron. He took it to Snape as fast as he could, hoping to escape the lecture that was sure to follow if the teacher got a good look in the flagon.

Divination was decent. They were beginning dream interpretation, which Neville had been wanting to start for ages. He always remembered his dreams, and not know what they meant drove him absolutely mad. Since Seamus wasn’t in Divination, Dean was always willing to pair with Nevile, so he didn’t even have the anxiety over finding a partner to deal with. 

“Well, last night I had a dream about scissors. It was pretty wild. They were chasing me around the Great Hall, and they kept opening and closing like some giant moth. The bizarre thing is that the scissors were wearing my Gran’s hat. You know, the fox fur one on the boggart that one time?”

“Hold on,” Dean said, flipping through _The Dream Oracle. _“I’m still looking up scissors.”__

Neville waited, tapping his fingers on the table. It was a nervous habit, but he couldn’t for the life of him break it.

By the end of the class period, Dean had formulated several theories about the dream, the final one being that the scissors were supposed to symbolize his Grandmother’s sharp tongue. “Maybe you feel like she’s chasing you,” Dean said as he put his books back into his bag.

While this was true, it was also so glaringly obvious that Neville didn’t believe he would actually dream about it. Clearly, they had a ways to go before they would have any success at interpreting dreams.

And now it was time for the class he was dreading most of all. Sure enough, Defence Against the Dark Arts was a complete and utter fiasco. After Harry had been sent out of the room, Professor Umbridge cleared her throat. “Listen carefully, children. I’m sorry that you had to witness that. I want you to remember that Mr. Potter is not well, and has not been in quite some time.”

Nobody said anything. Neville thought about speaking up, but really, what would be the point? All that would happen would be him getting detention. Probably a lovely Howler from his gran to go with it.

“I just want to say this one more time. Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident. It came about from lax security procedures, which the Ministry is working hard to fix. And part of that correction is a stricter Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Do I make myself quite clear?” Umbridge’s frosty glare was completely at odds with her sugary voice. It would have been funny, under different circumstances.

“Now, that won’t do. What did I say earlier? Answer my questions with ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ or “No, Professor Umbridge.’ Let’s try that again. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” they said dully.

“Very good. Now, please begin with chapter one.”

* * * * *

The next day Neville had double Charms and double transfiguration. Charms wasn’t so bad, except that Professor Flitwick began the class with a lecture on the importance of O.W.L year. He explained, as if it they didn’t already know, that their test scores would follow them for the rest of their lives. Neville’s grandmother had been talking along the same lines all summer, and it made him a little more anxious any time someone mentioned it.

At least Charms was a class that Neville did all right in. McGonagall’s lecture in Transfiguration was far worse, because Neville knew that it would take nothing short of a miracle for him to pass the Transfiguration O.W.L.

Care of Magical Creatures was surprisingly good. As much as Neville liked Hagrid, the creatures had always freaked him out. Professor Grubbly-Plank and her Bowtruckles were such a refreshing change that he had a hard time bringing himself to worry about Hagrid’s whereabouts.

Even Professor Sprout gave a lecture about O.W.L.s. Neville tried to tune it out, but it stuck with him for all of class, and his work suffered accordingly. Afterwards, he stayed behind to show her his _Mimbulus mimbletonia. ___

“I’d like to get one of _these _for the Hogwarts greenhouse,” she said admiringly. Then she paused and looked at him. “Neville, was there something else you wanted to talk about? You seemed unfocused in class.”__

Neville started. “No, there’s nothing else.”

Professor Sprout looked at him sharply. “All right. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Neville nodded, then left, holding his _Mimbulus mimbletonia _close to his chest.__


	4. Chapter 4

That Friday, Neville arrived that the Quidditch pitch at quarter to five so he would have time to borrow a broom for tryouts. It took a long time to find a broom that wasn’t too misshapen, but he finally managed to find one with only a few bent twigs. Trying to appear casual, joined the group waiting at the edge of the pitch. Ron and Seamus were both there; Ron looking rather green. He was clutching his broom so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Hey,” he choked.

“Hey,” Neville said. Seamus just nodded, and Neville remembered that Ron and Seamus were still fighting.

At five o’ clock sharp, Johnson blew her whistle. “We’ll start with a few laps around the pitch so that everyone can get comfortable. Then you’ll take turns Keeping with the whole team; see how well you fit in. After you’ve had your turn, you can either go back to the common room or wait around to hear our decision. Everybody ready?” Without waiting for a response, she blew her whistle and rose into the air.

Neville mounted his broom and kicked off the ground, trying not to think too much about the likelihood of falling. When he leaned to turn, he felt an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, like the bottom of it was dropping out. The wind pushed past him, and he knew that he should enjoy this, find it exhilarating. It should feel like freedom.

It didn’t.

After they had flown several laps, Johnson lead them back to the ground.

“Finnegan!” she called. “You first!”

Seamus did all right, although he missed a few easy saves. Neville crossed his fingers, hoping that the would do at least that well. After about ten minutes, Angelina blew her whistle.

“Longbottom, you’re next!” 

Neville pushed off from the ground and flew to the front of the goal posts. When he had gotten himself situated, he looked up to see Katie Bell flying right next to him. His chest tightened. He ducked as the Quaffle went towards him, letting it go right past him through the hoop. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t good enough for the Quidditch team. He didn’t even like flying. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, but the gnawing sensation in his stomach told him otherwise. 

When Johnson at last blew her whistle, Neville went right back to the common room. There was no point in waiting in the cold when he knew he wouldn’t make the team, and Neville didn’t want anyone to see him cry.

How would he tell his grandmother?

As it turned out, he didn’t have to. The very next day, Calo arrived with another letter.

_Dear Neville, ___

_Minerva has informed me that you did not make the Quidditch team. Try not to worry about it. I know that you really wanted the position, but it’s best we be good sports about this sort of thing. Perhaps next year you can try again. In the meantime, you should work on improving your scores in Potions. Honestly, I don’t see how anyone with such a clear understanding of plants could perform so poorly in a class that’s just mixing them together. Besides, both of your parents were excellent at Potions. ___

_Love, ___  
_Your Grandmother ___

When Neville had finished the letter, he folded it up and pocketed it. “I didn’t care about making the team,” he whispered. “ _You _did.”__

“Hey Neville, look at this,” Seamus said, handing over the paper. “I know you think the _Prophet's ___rubbish, but _blimey. ___”

Neville looked at the page Seamus was indicating. It was an article about Sirius Black, and it took much most of the page. “Sighted in London,” he read aloud, voice shaking. “I knew last year was too good to be true.”

Of course, the reason Sirius Black was making an appearance again was because Voldemort was back, but Neville knew better than to say that to Seamus. Let him believe that Black was working alone if he wanted to. It was no skin off his back.

Over the next several days, Neville was constantly on his guard. Sirius Black had broken into Hogwarts before; there was nothing to suggest that he wouldn’t try again. Neville was determined that this time, his carelessness wouldn’t make things easier for him. He was smarter now than he’d been in third year.

In Potions that Monday, his moonstone essay was handed back with an A on it. Neville was a little surprised that Snape had allowed him a passing graded, but he _had _worked hard on it. Ingredients were easy to write about; all you had to do was understand the underlying properties. It was what happened when they were mixed that Neville never could grasp.__

During Divination, Neville was surprised to see Professor Umbridge come up through the trap door. “What’s _she _doing here?” he whispered to Dean.__

“Inspecting the class. It was in the paper today. She can fire teachers that she thinks aren’t up to snuff.”

“Who gave her that kind of authority?”

“Fudge. Apparently he thinks Hogwarts is going downhill.”

Trelawney began to speak. “We shall be continuing our study of Prophetic dreams today. Divide into pairs, and interpret each other’s latest nighttime visions with the aid of the oracle.” 

Neville noticed that Professor Trelawney hadn’t quite managed her usual eerie voice. It made her seem much less frightening, and Neville found himself feeling rather sorry for her. He forgot about this quickly as Dean began to explain an incredibly complicated dream.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor Umbridge began by telling everyone to put their wands away and read chapter two of _Defensive Magical Theory. _Hermione’s hand shot up almost immediately, and within ten minutes, the class had once again dissolved into a shouting match between Harry and Umbridge. The only useful thing he learned was that anyone who finished the book outside of class would have to write essays about each chapter. Hermione took that news reasonably well, all things considered.__

* * * * *

“Thank you, Minerva,” Mrs. Longbottom said as she guided Neville to the Floo entrance. They went home by fireplace, then Apparated to the alley near St. Mungo’s. A Healer was waiting to lead them to the closed ward. 

“How are you, Neville?” she asked as they walked.

“I’m alright.” 

The Healer unlocked the door and let them in. Neville went immediately to his parents’ bed, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Tell them about your Quidditch tryout,” his grandmother said.

“Give me a minute.” He kneeled next to his mother. “Hi, Mum,” he said. “Term’s started. Almost a month ago, now. I tried out of the Quidditch team, but I didn’t do very well. I know Dad was a really good Quidditch player, but I can’t seem to get it right.

“I got an Acceptable on a Potions assignment. I’m doing quite well on the homework. Snape thinks that someone must be letting me copy, because my work in class has been so horrible. I’m doing pretty well in Charms, or at least, better than I was.” 

His grandmother made a small scoffing sound. 

“We’re studying the Goblin Riots in History of Magic. It’s wild to think that those are the same creatures who run the banks. I’ll never be able to think of Gringotts the same way.” He paused and took a breath. “We have to do career consultations at the end of this year. I’m not sure what I want to be yet. I’d love to be an Auror, like you, but I don’t think my marks will be good enough. Besides, what I’m really interested in is the investigation part. I don’t think I’d like being in the thick of the fighting. I’d just like to help, you know?”

No. They didn’t know. Once, they’d fought, to help make things better for everyone. They’d been real heroes. But now they were just two empty shells of people, lying in a hospital bed unable to recognize even their own son.

“I’m ready to go, Gran,” Neville said. Augusta nodded, and quickly found a Healer to let them out of the closed ward.

When Neville got back to school, he was incredibly restless. He knew he should be working on his Potions homework, but he couldn’t sit still. Finally, he pulled on his cloak and went to take a walk on the grounds. Unsurprisingly, he ended up at that Greenhouses. Professor Sprout had given him his own key at the beginning of the year. He hadn’t used it yet, but today Professor Sprout wasn’t in a Greenhouse, so Neville let himself in. The door creaked as he pulled it open.

He smiled lovingly at the Venomous Tantacula, then slapped it as it reached for his leg. The tentacle retreated. He continued on his path towards the back of the room for the watering can. First, he filled it with water for the plants that would take normal water. He walked down the aisles, giving each plant the proper attention.

Neville had never understood why he felt so comfortable in the Greenhouse. He imagined it must be similar to the way some people felt when they got on a broomstick. When he was with plants, or reading about them, it was like he entered a different plane of existence. He was both more aware of himself and somehow outside of himself.

Spreading dragon dung carefully on the Gigantic Nasturtiums, he thought about the fiasco with the Quidditch tryouts. Tentatively at first, like poking a bruise to see if it still hurts. Then more so, as he realized that it didn’t hurt that much. He had been a little bit- well, more than a little bit, to be perfectly honest- embarrassed at his performance, but he had never truly wanted to be on the team. All of that inane practicing to get good at throwing a ball threw a hoop- or, since he was trying out for Keeper, get good at stopping others from throwing a ball through a hoop. And for what? None of the positions except for Seeker mattered anyways. The rest of the game was just so that the audience wouldn’t be too bored waiting.

Neville knew that his father had felt differently, must have, to have played for so long at Hogwarts. He’d been a Chaser from his third year on. 

_I don’t really know him ___, he reminded himself. _I don’t know what he really would have wanted for me. I’m not a disappointment just because I couldn’t make the Quidditch team. ___

Tears pooled up in Neville’s eyes unbidden. He wiped them away angrily, and filled the watering can with dragon’s blood, careful not to spill a single drop. It was too important and expensive of an ingredient to waste any. He took it over to the Carnivorous Bean Sprouts and poured a carefully measured amount into their soil, then cast _Solo reprehendo _to check the PH of the soil. It was a little bit off, so he added more dragon blood and tested again.__

Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to post more frequently now that it's summer. My goal is to have this finished by the end of August, but I'm not making any promises. Enjoy!

“Gran, I don’t want to be an Auror. I’ve told you this over twenty times! So why does it matter if I only have an A in Transfiguration!”

“It matters because I want to make sure you have a lot of options,” Augusta said in a level voice. “Transfiguration is needed for almost every job you could want, and you want to make sure you can take it at the N.E.W.T. level. Imagine if, a few years from now, you decide that you want to be a Magical Law Enforcement Officer? They have to use Transfiguration all of the time. Most Ministry jobs do.”

“There are other jobs besides the ones at the Ministry! I want to be an herbologist, you know that!”

His grandmother spoke stiffly, clearly trying not to raise her voice as they walked down the London streets. “You’re fifteen. You don’t know what you want. Listen, Neville, I’m not telling you that you can’t be an herbologist. I just don’t want you to be trapped by decisions you make now.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Neville said, kicking a pebble. He knew that he was acting like a child, but it wasn’t fair for her to tell him what he should want, especially when they were on their way to visit his parents. Neville preferred to go the journey to St. Mungo’s in silence, but that never seemed to happen.

When they got to St. Mungo’s, they were promptly lead to the closed ward. Since they came so often, and because of such a sad event, they were treated as high priority visitors. Besides that, Augusta always owled in advance to tell the nurses when they could be expected. Briefly, Neville wondered if they still would visit frequently if he’d made the Quidditch team. Players didn’t have very many free weekends, and it wasn’t considered acceptable to miss that many practices, even if you had a good reason. 

When they entered the ward, Neville and his grandmother were promptly accosted by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. Although Neville had become used to his presence, he couldn’t help but find it overwhelming every time the ex-professor spoke to them.

“Visitors! Wonderful. I was just practicing my signature, you know. Practice, practice, practice makes perfect, and I am becoming extraordinary at this, I must say. They’ve been having me work on my joined together writing, I can’t remember what it’s called, and it makes my name look absolutely beautiful- not that it wasn’t beautiful before, of course. How many autographs would you like?” As he spoke, Lockhart attempted to steer them to his corner of the ward, but Augusta wasn’t having any of it.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re here to visit someone else,” she said, loudly and clearly. As she did so, she worked to pry Lockhart’s hand off of her arm, and quickly succeeded. For such a small witch, she was very strong. She took Neville’s hand, as though he were still a small child, and walked him over to his parents, careful to avoid eye contact with Lockhart. Eye contact was one of the biggest things that drew him in, something they had learned over the years of seeing him in here with Neville’s parents. When they reached the bed, Augusta drew closed the curtains.

“Really, that man,” she said, but left it at that. Neville brought a stool to his mum’s side of the bed and took her hand.

“Hi, mum,” he said. “Hi, dad. I didn’t make the Quidditch team. The other guys were really good, and I guess I haven’t practiced enough.” No use in saying that he wasn’t good; his grandmother didn’t allow that sort of self-deprecating talk. Haven’t practiced enough was acceptable; am not good enough was not. 

From behind Neville, his grandmother tutted. “Neville, were the only people at your Quidditch tryout male?”

“No, Gran,” Neville said.

“Are the only people on your House’s team male?

“No.”

“Then why are you referring to “the other _guys _”? Neville, I’ve told you a hundred times that you’re not to exclude women, but you never listen.” This was a particularly sore spot with her. Neville supposed that it was because she had grown up in a time when women were treated badly, but didn’t know for sure, having never asked her.__

“Sorry, Gran.” He turned back to his parents. “The other _players _were really good, and I guess I haven’t practiced enough. The guy who got the position is in a family of really good players, so he had a lot more experience than me. Three of his siblings have already been on Gryffindor’s team.”__

Neville imagined that his father, when he was healthy, would have liked hearing about this. He’d never really known his dad, so what he did know came from his Grandmother, and what he’d made up in his head.

It probably wasn’t fair, inventing ideas about his parents in his head. He knew that if they ever did get better (not likely, but he couldn’t let go of that hope) they would be constantly surprising him. The people he built up in his mind weren’t his parents; there was no way of replicating someone you didn’t know. Neville understood this. But he couldn’t help imagining conversations with them. Listening to his dad congratulating him on becoming a Gryffindor (even though he’d asked the Sorting Hat to place him there, he still felt a distinct sense of pride that it would consider him worthy of the House.) Asking his mum’s advice about how to make friends, listening to her tell him that he was a wonderful boy, that anyone would be lucky to be friends with him.

Some nights he had dreams about seeing his parents, not as they were now, but as they must have been sixteen years ago: fighting dark wizards, dancing, laughing with their friends. But in these dreams, they were behind a screen, some sort of veil, and he couldn’t see them properly. He tore frantically at it, trying to get to them, but the more he tore, the further away they seemed, until he couldn’t even hear their voices, couldn’t even see their eyes. He would wake up clawing at the sheets as though breaking through them would get him to his parents.

He didn’t tell his grandmother about these dreams anymore. The one time he had, she’d given him Dreamless Sleep potion every night for months. And Neville didn’t want to lose the dreams. As pathetic as it was, it was the only way he was ever able to see his parents, and he would cling to that with his very last breath.

The dreams were all that got him through the real life visits.

Besides, maybe someday he’d be able to break through the veil.

* * * * * 

“Neville!” Hermione pulled him aside in the hallway after class. “I’m telling everyone I can find. Harry, Ron, and I are starting a group to practice defensive spells. The way Umbridge is teaching is complete rubbish. Anyway, if you’re interested, meet us at the Hog’s Head tomorrow, okay?” And with that, she was off, before Neville had had a chance to say a single word.

Well, that was Hermione for you.

Neville spent the next 24 hours in varying states of anxiety. He really did want to go to the meeting, but there were so many things that could go wrong. The most obvious of these would be him making a fool of himself, but there were other pitfalls, too, and he needed to make sure these were avoided.

It was during Potions that he had his worst thought. (Potions always did seem to bring that out in him.) What if there wasn’t a meeting at all? People rarely asked Neville to join them for anything, and although he didn’t really expect Hermione to be playing a nasty joke, he couldn’t rule out the possibility. Maybe he shouldn’t go.

At dinner, he discarded this idea as ridiculous, mainly because it was clear that Hermione really _was ___telling everyone she knew. So it was settled. He would go.

Only… he had never been to the Hog’s Head. It sounded pretty dodgy. He was sure his grandmother wouldn’t approve to him going to that part of Hogsmeade. Besides, if Umbridge found out, she wouldn’t be pleased, and after having a detention with her for falling asleep in class, he wanted to stay on her good side. Then again, it might be good to get back at her, and undermining her teaching (or lack thereof) was a great way to do that.

What finally settled the matter, as he was going to sleep that night, is that he was sure if his parents were around, they would encourage him to go.

* * * * *

_Dear Gran,_

_I joined a club to practice Defensive spells, because Umbridge won’t teach us any, but now she’s shut down all the clubs in school. The others want to practice in secret, but I’m scared we’ll be caught. What do you think? ___

_Love,_   
_Neville_

He normally wouldn’t write to his grandmother about something like this, but he had no idea what to do. Besides, she loved giving advice, as evidenced by the fact that the very next day, Neville received a response.

_Dear Neville,_

_It’s very important that you learn defensive spells right now, and not just because it’s your O.W.L. year. Being able to defend yourself will be what gets you through these hard times. Your parents would be very proud that you’re taking matters into your own hands. That’s the sort of discipline I’ve always worried you lacked. I’m not going to mention this via owl post again, and you shouldn’t either. I’ve done some research on that Umbridge woman, and I don’t trust her. ___

_Minerva says you need to improve your potions grade. Maybe you could practice that in your club, too. ___

_Love,_   
_Your grandmother_

And, just like that, Neville was part of a revolution. An underground resistance. Maybe he was being a little melodramatic, calling it that, but it made him feel powerful. The fact that he was doing something right under Umbridge’s nose was incredibly satisfying. Even if he never mastered a single one of Harry’s spells, he would always know that he had done something to subvert Umbridge’s power.

When resisting felt this good, it was no wonder his parents had fought so hard.


	6. Chapter 6

Neville awoke to the sound of screams. He rolled out of bed and looked around frantically, trying to locate the source of the screaming. When he stood up, he realized that Ron was frantically shaking Harry. It took him a few more seconds to realize that Harry was the one screaming. 

“Harry, you have to wake up, mate. You’re dreaming. Harry! Harry! _Harry! ___” Ron shook harder as he yelled.

Harry’s eyes opened. He grabbed his forehead and vomited over the edge of the bed. Everyone but Ron took a step back.

“He’s really ill,” Neville said. “Should we call someone?” His voice shook, and he realized that he was terrified. He wasn’t normally this freaked out when someone got sick, but the way Harry had been moving a few minutes ago… Neville had thought he was having a seizure or something. Maybe he was.

“Harry! _Harry! ___” Ron yelled insistently.

Harry pushed himself up and looked at Ron. “Your dad,” he rasped. “Your dad’s… been attacked….”

“What?”

“Your dad! He’s been bitten, it’s serious, there was blood everywhere….”

Neville’s heart sped up. Clearly, something was seriously wrong. Harry must have been hallucinating. Ron looked shocked, and Neville realized that if anybody was going to do something about this situation, it would have to be him. “I’m going for help.” He ran out of the room, a small, mean part of him secretly grateful that he wouldn’t have to witness any more of this. He ran through the common room and all the way to McGonagall’s quarters. Her room was locked, but he knocked loudly, his fear of what was happening to Harry overriding all anxiety. When she didn’t appear right away, he knocked again.

McGonagall opened the door, annoyance etched across her face. “What is it, Longbottom? You _are ___aware that it is two in the morning, yes?”

“Something’s happened to Harry! It’s really bad, Professor. He was asleep, and he kept thrashing around and hissing and Ron got him to wake up, but he was very ill, and he keeps talking about Ron’s dad, something about him being bitten! I think something’s going on with his brain, some sort of spell or illness, but whatever it is—”

McGonagall cut him off. Her face had gone white. “Did you say,” she asked levelly, “That he was talking about Ron’s dad being bitten?”

“Well, yes, but I think—”

McGonagall ran towards the common room. Neville followed, gasping as he tried to keep up with her. What had made her react this way? He got to the dormitory right as she did. “Over here, Professor…” Whatever was going on must be bad, if it had upset her this way.

Professor McGonagall ran towards Harry. “What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?”

“It’s Ron’s dad,” he said, attempting to sit up. “He’s been attacked by a giant snake and it’s serious, I saw it happen.”

“What do you mean, you saw it happen?” Professor McGonagall looked highly worried, and Neville hope that this was the point where she would take Harry to the hospital wing and make everything okay again.

“I don’t know…. I was asleep, and then I was there….”

“You mean you dreamed this?” McGonagall’s voice sounded hopeful, like if he just said yes, everything would be okay.

“No!” Harry shouted. “I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid… and this interrupted it. It was real, I didn’t imagine it, Mr. Weasley was asleep on the floor, and he was attacked by a gigantic snake, there was a load of blood, he collapsed, someone’s got to find out where he is…. I’m not lying and I’m not mad! I tell you, I saw it happen!”

“I believe you, Potter. Put on your dressing gown— we’re going to see the headmaster.”

She swooped out of the room, taking Harry and Ron with her. Dean and Seamus looked dumbfounded.

“What was _that ___all about?” Dean asked.

Seamus shrugged, and sat back down on the bed. “She’s probably taking them to the hospital wing. Knows she can’t reason with Harry when he’s like this, so she’s pretending to give him what he wants.”

Dean looked reassured by this explanation. “And she took Ron because he and Harry are such good mates. That makes sense.”

Neville wasn’t sure. The look on McGonagall’s face… it seemed like she had believed him. This was a troubling thought, so he pushed it aside. Of course, he was just being ridiculous. Seamus’ explanation made perfect sense.

“Blimey, though,” Seamus said quietly. “Did you see the look on his face?”

Dean nodded. “It was like he really did see something.”

“I suppose we’ll find out what really happened in the morning.”

Dean nodded. “If we can get to sleep, that is. I keep picturing his face.”

Neville needed the subject to be changed right away. It was bad enough, seeing things over and over in his head without having to hear them relived by his dorm mates. “Will someone try to Vanish that vomit? I’d try, but I don’t think it would do much good.”

“Sure.” Dean screwed up his face in concentration and pointed his wand at the puddle. “ _Evanesco. ___”

They didn’t talk after that, which would have been fine with Neville if it weren’t for the images that kept popping into his mind unbidden. McGonagall’s face turning white with fear. Harry, thrashing and hissing. Ron, unable to do anything but yell his friend’s name.

When Neville finally fell asleep, he dreamed about his parents being tortured.

The next day, Professor McGonagall pulled the three of them aside into her classroom give them the bare details of what had happened. “Ron’s father was attacked, and the Weasleys were all pulled out of school. I don’t think I need to impress on you the seriousness of this situation. It’s acceptable to tell people that Mr. Weasley is in St. Mungo’s, but you must keep what happened last night to yourselves. You can imagine what the Daily Prophet would do if they found out that Mr. Potter saw what happened.”

“Professor, how _did ___Harry see what happened?” Seamus asked. “I thought he was going of his rocker, last night. How did you know it was true?”

“Neither of those questions concern you, Mr. Finnegan,” she said in clipped tones. “All you need to know is that Mr. Weasley seems to be stabilizing, but his children have been pulled out of school until he’s better. Now, I’m sure you all have studying to do. The holidays don’t start until tomorrow.”

Seamus nodded, looking abashed. As they left, Neville couldn’t help but say, “See, the Daily Prophet’s wrong. Harry’s not lying, and he’s not crazy.”

Seamus sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe everyone’s crazy, you know? It’d be simpler.” He left down the hallway, looking more subdued than usual.

Dean looked at Neville. “He’s having a hard time with everything. Just give him time.” He ran to catch up with Seamus, and Neville realized that the two of them would support each other no matter what. 

Neville had never had a friend like that.

The holidays started the next day. Neville sat with Dean and Seamus on the train ride. They played Exploding Snap and didn’t talk about what had happened to Ron’s dad, or politics, or the Daily Prophet, or Harry. When they did talk, it was about Christmas, or how much they hated Umbridge.

In a lot of ways, it was nice to pretend that none of this was happening. That they were just three normal teenage boys going home for a normal holiday in a normal world that wasn’t divided by war and fear and animosity. That their biggest worry was whether they would get what they wanted for Christmas. He was almost able to believe it, for a little while.

When Neville got of the train and met his grandmother, he was pulled back into reality. “I’ve ordered you a subscription to the Daily Prophet. It’s best if we know what they’re up to. If you don’t trust yourself to read it without believing their every word, get someone to read it with you. I’m sure your teachers would be willing to help you sort out what is and isn’t true, or maybe that Hermione Granger I’ve been hearing about. She sounds like a girl with a good head on her shoulders.”

“Gran, could we talk about this later? I’m tired.” He put his luggage on a trolley and wheeled it away from the train.

Augusta looked hurt. “I just want you to be prepared for whatever happens. You know I worry about you, and you don’t have the firmest grasp on what’s going on in the world.” She put her hand on his shoulder bracingly. “It’s important that you know what’s going on in the world around you, Neville, even though it’s not pretty. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

He sighed. “Yes Gran. I understand.”

Over the next several days, they had several similar flare-ups, the largest on Christmas day. After dinner, Augusta turned to Neville and asked if he was ready to visit his parents.

“Do we have to go today?”

She looked surprised. “Of course. We always visit your parents for Christmas, you know that.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Neville!” His grandmother sounded appalled. “What do you mean, you don’t want to go? They’re your parents!”

“And they don’t recognize me anyways! What does it matter? They won’t know the difference.”

Augusta pursed her lips. “Neville, it’s Christmas. We visit your parents on Christmas, it’s just what was do. You don’t have to stay long, and you don’t have to like it, but we _are ___going to St. Mungo’s.”

Normally, Neville would drop it. But his hand hurt from detention with Umbridge, and he had a headache from trying to remember all of the spells from DA, and he didn’t want any more pain. He didn’t want to be reminded what happened to people who fought, people who had fought better than he was. If he remembered, he might not be able to keep going.

All he wanted right now was to be sitting on a train playing Exploding Snap and pretending that everything was simple.

“What’s the big deal? We don’t go for them. They don’t even know we’re there. So if I don’t want to go, who am I really hurting?”

“Neville! What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” He ran up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

His grandmother called up the stairs. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes, even if I have to Petrify you to get you there.”

Neville threw himself on his bed, determined not to cry. Why couldn’t his grandmother ever listen to him? Why did she have to be so sure that she was right? If he went to see his parents, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep going. How do you bring yourself to fight the same fight that left your parents brain-dead? How do you reconcile yourself to the fact that even if your side wins, there’ll be casualties, people who end up just like your parents? You don’t, or at least, not if you’re Neville. You ignore it and pretend it’s not there. That the secret to fighting: pretending you don’t know the risks.

Nevertheless Neville and his grandmother left for St. Mungo’s twenty minutes later.


	7. Chapter 7

Neville opened the newspaper, and his world fell apart. 

It took a long time for the information to make sense. The words blurred in his vision, and he realized it was because he was crying. Yet at the same time, he felt strangely detached, as if this was all happening to someone else. As if someone else had opened the paper to a picture of the woman who had as good as killed their parents.

But the tears still streamed down his face, and he didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing, because no one was paying any attention to him. Everyone who subscribed to the Daily Prophet was reading it, with varying shades of horror on their faces. Everyone else was either paying no attention, or just looked confused.

Neville wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he knew he needed to leave the room. He went up to his dorm and counted the bubblegum wrappers, over and over until the rhythm lulled him to sleep. 

He didn’t go to any of his classes that day, and not one teacher ever mentioned it to him.

* * * * *

_Dear Gran,_

_This is really hard to tell you, because I know you won’t listen, but I’m not going with you to see Mom and Dad anymore. It’s too painful, and pointless. ___

_I hope you’re doing well._

_Love,_   
_Neville ___

_Dear Neville,_

_Don’t be silly. Of course you want to see your parents. I know it’s not easy, but it’s important. When you’re of age, you can make your own decisions, but as your guardian it is up to me to do what’s best for you. Some day you’ll thank me. Besides, think about Harry Potter. His parents are dead, and I bet he’d love to be able to talk to them, even if they weren’t responsive. Don’t confuse being non-responsive with being unable to understand, either. The Healers have found no evidence to suggest whether or not they understand us. ___

_Minerva tells me that you’re failing in Care of Magical Creatures. I’m sure I don’t know why; you were doing so ___well _earlier this year. ___

_Love,_   
_Your Grandmother_

 

Neville shoved the letters in front of Professor McGonagall. “I need your help.

McGonagall looked at him over her glasses. “I assumed that was the case, or you wouldn’t have requested a meeting.”

“It’s my grandmother. I need you to persuade her that I can’t leave school to see my parents.”

McGonagall straightened some papers and looked at him sternly. “Longbottom, is this school related?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’m sure that you’re aware that under the jurisdiction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six, I am forbidden to speak to you about matters not related to the subject I teach?”

“Yes, but—”

“So perhaps you’d like to rephrase your question so that it pertains to the subject I teach?”

Suddenly, Neville understood. He leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. “I’m having a hard time getting my Transfiguration homework done, especially with Gran pulling me out of school to visit my parents.”

“I’ll drop her a line. She understands how important your schoolwork is.” McGonagall returned to her work. “Oh, and Longbottom?”

“Yeah?”

“I know that the work in Transfiguration is troubling you right now, but I want you to remember that it _is ___worthwhile, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. Once your work through what you’re stuck on, I’m sure things will get easier.”

Neville nodded, a lump forming in his throat. McGonagall meant well, but she had no idea what he was going through. 

_Dear Neville,_

_I’ve just received word from Minerva that visiting your parents is interfering with your schoolwork. Don’t think for one minute that you’ve fooled me, young man. I know very well that you put her up to this. It’s not right, pitting your teachers against me. You know I only want what’s best for you. I suppose I must listen to Minerva, because she’s your head of house, but don’t think you’re off of the hook. I expect to see serious improvement in your Transfiguration grade if you plan to use that as an excuse. ___I am not pleased with you.

_You left a book at home during the holidays. I’ll send it to you when I can get another owl to help. Calo’s getting too old to carry heavy packages by herself. ___

_Love,_   
_Your Grandmother_

The weekend came, and Neville didn’t quite know what to do with himself. It was so ingrained in his mind that he was supposed to visit his parents _this weekend ___that staying at school just felt— off. He ended up wandering the halls until he found an abandoned classroom. More and more often now, he went of in search of places where he could practice defensive spells. Since his parents’ torturer had escaped from Azkaban, D.A. had changed from a fun act of rebellion to a matter of life and death.

There were only a few spells Neville could practice on his own; it wouldn’t make any sense for him to petrify himself, for example. He practiced the Impediment Jinx on Trevor, and attempted a Patronus, but what he really needed was another person to practice with. The problem was that he didn’t know how to ask anyone. He couldn’t just walk around looking for someone who was alone, because what if he couldn’t find anyone? He would just be stuck wandering. And going up to a group of people was inconceivable. In Neville’s experience, people were much more likely to blow him off when they were with friends. The trick was to find someone with nothing better to do.

Neville was about to give up and return to the common room when Luna Lovegood opened the door.

“Oh, hello, Neville. I thought I might find you here. Your toad has a very distinctive aura.”

“It— it does?” 

“Oh, yes. It’s very lovely. What are you doing in this classroom?”

“Well, I’m— I’m practicing spells for D.A.”

“Would you like someone to practice with?”

“You— do you mean you want to practice with me?”

“Yes,” Luna said simply. “You never know when knowing defensive spells might be useful. If I want to be an explorer, I should learn more of them.”

“You want to be an explorer?”

“Yes. There’s so many things to discover. If we can save up enough money, Daddy’s going to take me on an expedition this summer to search for the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

“That sounds nice.” Neville fumbled for words. “So, um, what spells do you want to practice?”

“I’ve noticed that you’re having trouble with Stunning Spells. We can start with that.”

It turned out that once Luna set her mind to something, she was incredibly productive. Neville mastered the spell in under an hour.

* * * * * 

_Dear Gran,_

_I know you’re still upset with me, but I wanted to tell you about an interview you should read. It’s in Luna’s dad’s magazine, and it’s excellent. I’m sure you’ll find it easily if you look. Sorry I can’t get more specific. ___

_Love,_   
_Neville_

_Dear Neville,_

_No, I don’t suppose you could have gotten more specific, what with the fact that when your letter arrived, it clearly already opened. Hello, whoever’s reading my mail. Please go away; I’m not stupid. What are you looking for, anyways? I have rights, you know. I’ll take this up with the Ministry if I have to. ___

_The interview was very good, thank you for showing it to me. I love reading about ways to improve my garden. I think I will subscribe to that magazine. I ___am __still upset with you, but we’ll talk over your Easter holidays and see if we can work something out. __

_Love,_   
_Your Grandmother_

Neville was shocked when he read this letter. His grandmother sounded… almost _mellow ___. For her, at least. For a brief moment, he wondered if someone else was impersonating her. Handwriting Replication Charms weren’t that hard to master. The thing that convinced him that it was really her was her flimsy gardening excuse. Nobody else would have thrown that in there. Besides, she had sent him back the books he had left behind that Christmas.

This term was dragging on; nothing of real significance seemed to be happening. O.W.L.s were approaching fast, which was making everyone nervous, but that didn’t change the fact that everything seemed to be in a holding pattern. Maybe it was because Neville was so busy anticipating everything that could happen that he felt this way, but it was like the entire school was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’d been an Azkaban break out, and then _nothing happened. ___That would be enough to make anyone a little nervous, right?

Privately, Neville wondered if it seemed like nothing was happening because he wasn’t visiting his parents. That had always been a way that he’d measured time, and now that he wasn’t visiting them (hadn’t in over a month,) it felt a little bit like time had just… stopped. 

The night Neville heard screams coming from the Entrance Hall, it was like his whole body was ready for it. He ran headlong down the stairs, remembering to skip the trick step for the first time ever. He shoved past people to see what was going on, raising his wand and mentally running through ever spell he knew. It took him a moment to realize that no one seemed to be hurt, or even in danger of being hurt.

“You ridiculous fraud,” Umbridge said, sounding far too smug. “Did you really think no one would notice that you’re about as much a Seer as I am a unicorn?” She was much shorter than Professor Trelawney, but somehow seemed to tower over her.

Trelawney’s eyes filled with tears. “But you can’t— Hogwarts is my home. Professor Dumbledore chose me, he’ll tell you that I’m a Seer! He wouldn’t have hired me if he thought I wasn’t. Do you really think that he would have hired me if he didn’t know I was a Seer?” Her voice rose as she spoke, so that by the end she was shrieking.

Neville bit his lip to keep from crying. He didn’t even _like ___Trelawney. More people were coming, cramming themselves into the limited space, and some of them seemed to be _enjoying ___the spectacle. Neville felt nauseas. How could Umbridge— how could _anyone ___be that cruel?

“But it’s not up to Dumbledore right now, is it? It’s up to me, and I say that you no longer have a place at this school.”

“No! No! This cannot be happening… it cannot… I refuse to accept it!” At this point, Trelawney was hunched over on the ground, hugging her knees.

“You didn’t realize this was coming? Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow’s whether, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you be sacked?”

Neville couldn’t bring himself to watch any longer, so he pushed back through the crowd and walked upstairs. The common room was empty, and Neville sat down on the most comfortable chair, trying to decipher what it was about Trelawney’s situation that troubled him so much. There wasn’t any solid reason, except that it was so unfair. It wasn’t her fault that she was no good at what she taught. It wasn’t like she _tried ___to be a bad teacher. She just didn’t know how to do things that she’d been told she was supposed to do. Probably she’d grown up with her whole family counting on her to become a Seer. Maybe she was really interested in something else, but didn’t know how to stand up to her family.

Then again, maybe Neville was just projecting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my plan to have this finished by the end of summer fell through miserably. Life stuff just keeps getting in the way. Just wanted to let you know that I have no intentions of abandoning this, and hope to post more soon. 
> 
> Enjoy Chapter Eight!

Happy thoughts were especially elusive tonight.  Neville tried the moment when his family had realized he wasn’t a Squib, but since that moment was the direct result of being dropped out of a window, it really wasn’t surprising that it didn’t work.  The only other memories that stood out took place in the Herbology classroom.  Maybe one of these would have been fine, except that Bellatrix Lestrange kept forcing her way back into his mind.  How could he focus on his happy thought with such a dangerous killer on the loose?

“You’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry said.

“I’m trying.”  Neville gritted his teeth.  He shouldn’t take his frustration out on Harry.  His life sucked too.  Come to think of it, it was pretty amazing that Harry could come up with a Patronus at all, with everything he’d been through.  How did he do it?  How could he summon up enough happiness for a Patronus when You-Know-Who was constantly trying to kill him?

Neville was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it took him a minute to realize that everyone had fallen silent.  He turned and saw and elf, hugging Harry’s legs and shaking. 

“Harry Potter, sir…” the elf said weakly.  “Dobby has come to warn you…  but the house-elves have been warned no to tell…” He suddenly ran forward and began beating his head against a wall.  Harry pulled him away and held his arms firmly.

“What’s happened, Dobby?” he demanded, fear in his voice.

Neville’s heart sunk.  This was it, then.  The Death Eaters were here.  He’d known it would only be a matter of time.  After all, Sirius Black had been able to get in and out unseen years ago.  With You-Know-Who back and a dozen Death Eaters freshly out of prison, the only surprising thing about the situation was that it hadn’t happened sooner.  Neville gripped his wand tighter, wishing more than anything that he could Apparate out and go far, far away.

Not a very Gryffindorish way to think, but there you have it.

“Harry Potter… she…she…” The elf hit himself again.

“Who’s ‘she,’ Dobby?”

Neville stared at Harry in amazement.  Wasn’t it obvious?  The only woman who could ignite that much fear in someone’s voice was Bellatrix Lestrange.  What, did Harry think Narcissa Malfoy was going to come marching into the school trying to kill people?  She wouldn’t want to soil her perfect gloves.

The elf looked up, and mouthed a word that Neville couldn’t understand.  Harry looked shocked. 

“Umbridge?” he asked.

Dobby nodded.

“Is she coming?”

“Yes, Harry Potter, yes!” shrieked the elf, pounding his feet on the floor.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” Harry yelled frantically.  “RUN!”

Neville bolted without a second thought, as though this whole time his legs had just been waiting for the order to run.  He ran faster than he’d ever run before, knowing that if he could just make it to the library, everything would be okay.  It wasn’t after hours yet, so he could pretend he had been studying.  He slowed down outside the door, knowing it would attract attention if he just dashed in, and took a book at random out of his bag.  Trying hard to slow his breathing, he pushed open the door.

“Nice try, Smith,” said a Slytherin who Neville thought was named Nott.  “Unfortunately for you, I’ve seen the list.  I know every name on it, and I know that you weren’t here to study.”

Smith looked at the boy coldly.  “I don’t know what list you’re talking about.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my common room.  It’s almost curfew, and I’m sure you know how we Hufflepuffs are about breaking rules.”  He stood and made towards the exit.

_“Impedimenta!”_ Nott said quietly.  Smith slowed, then froze.  “What, you thought only your little army knew jinxes?”

Neville stepped further into that room, and in that moment, it was like he’d become someone other than himself.  He knew exactly what he was going to say and do, but the words didn’t sound like his.  They sounded better, stronger, truer.

They sounded like the words of a Gryffindor.

“You’ll never make them think you’re cool, you know.”

Nott turned to look at him, worry and confusion etched on his face.  “What the hell are you on about, Longbottom?”

“I know why you’re doing this.  I know how much you want to be like Malfoy.  Merlin, that must be terrible, being stuck under the thumb of someone like him.  But no matter what you do, no matter how many people you jinx, no one’s going to think you’re cool.  So what are you doing it for?”

Nott’s face colored.  “What do you know?  Always under the shadow of Potter.  Don’t lie.  We all know your precious grandmother would rather have _him_ as a grandson.” 

His hand moved to his wand, but Neville was still gripping his.  It felt more natural than anything to raise it in the air and say, _“Stupefy!”_

The fact that it worked was no surprise to Neville; in the state he was in right now, he felt that he could do anything, and it would be right.  It wasn’t a way that he was used to feeling, but he was going to take advantage of it while he could.

_“Finite Incantatem,”_ he said, pointing to Smith.  The Hufflepuff didn’t even bother to thank him before bolting for the door.

Neville considered trying to Obliviate Nott, but even pumped full of adrenaline he wasn’t stupid enough to attempt a spell that difficult.  It wasn’t worth the risk.  He would just have to hope that Nott had enough pride that he wouldn’t admit to being beaten by Neville Longbottom.

He hurried back to the common room, making it to his dormitory right before curfew.  Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all there talking, but he ignored them, got into bed, and closed his curtains.  His energy was leaving him, and he didn’t feel powerful anymore.

Funny.  He’d always thought doing something brave would make him feel good.  Instead, he found himself feeling worse than ever.

He cried himself to sleep, feeling tired and drained.

* * * * *

“I’m sorry, Longbottom,” Professor McGongall said, sounding tired.  “I just don’t know what Herbology careers aren’t linked with Potions in some ways.  Is there anything else you would be interested in doing?”

“No.”  Neville was near tears.  The meeting had started less than ten minutes ago, and everything was already falling apart.  “I’ve only ever wanted to be an Herbologist.  Why do I need Potions for that?”

McGonagall sighed.  “We’ve already been over this.  Herbologists work closely with Potioneers in the creation and discovery of potions.  You could be a part of exploratory trips to look for plants, but most of those groups like people to have a background in potions because it helps with Herbology.  You have to understand that these two careers often go hand in hand.”

“I’m not taking Potions again.” 

McGonagall made a noise that, in a less dignified woman, would have been close to a snort.  “I should think not.  Professor Snape only accepts students who receive an O on their O.W.L.s, and even if you did manage that, it would drive both of you around the bend.  Now, there is one other career you could consider in Herbology, but I’ll warn you, it’s not for everyone.”

“What is it?”

“Teaching.”

Teaching!  Of course!  Neville broke into a grin.  “Brilliant.”

“Now, you should know that it’s a very difficult job, and not a very well paying one.  You’ll have to work with a large number of students, many of whom will have little aptitude or love for your subject.  You’ll have to slow down, and when that doesn’t work, slow down again.  You’ll have to be more patient than you ever thought was possible, and still there will be some who you can’t convince to care.  You’ll—”

“I want to do it.”

“Did you just interrupt me, Longbottom?”

“Sorry, Professor.  It’s just that it doesn’t matter.  None of the things you’re saying matter.  I’d love to be a teacher.  Maybe it won’t mean anything to most of my students, but all I can think of is how much Professor Sprout and Herbology have change my life.  I want—I want to give that to other people.  That sounds wonderful.  I know I’ll have to be patient, and work hard, but I want to do it.”

Professor McGonagall smiled approvingly.  “Then I hope you succeed.  You’ll take Herbology, naturally, and I’d suggest taking any other classes you can handle.  After your N.E.W.T.s, you’ll have to apply to a teacher training program, after which you can start applying for jobs.  Does that sound like an acceptable plan?”

Neville nodded.

“Then you are free to go.”

He got up and returned to his dorm, unable to keep the smile off his face.

* * * * *

“Let me go!” came a shriek, and Neville turned the corner to see Ginny Weasley being grabbed by a large Slytherin. 

“Leave her alone!” he yelled, clumsily pulling his wand out of his pocket.  The Slytherin turned and tried to cast a spell on him, but he put up a Shield Charm.  _“Expelliarmus!”_ he yelled, and the boy’s wand went flying into his hand.

Neville was about to Stun him, too, when the boy’s grip on Ginny tightened.  His arm went around her neck, pulling her into a headlock. 

“Drop your wand right now, or my grip will just get tighter,” he threatened.  Neville complied, feeling a sense of dread.

“Now bring me my wand and I’ll let her go.”

He walked towards the boy, his fear and anxiety so intense that he thought he might be sick.  Ginny suddenly leaned her head forward, then slammed it back into her captor’s face.  The boy swore loudly and released her.

“Run, Neville!” she ordered.

He ran, but it was soon clear that he wouldn’t be fast enough to get away.  Within fifteen seconds, the boy was up and running.  He’d grabbed Neville’s wand in the process.

_“Stupefy!”_ he yelled, and Neville hit the ground with a thump.

He couldn’t see anything.  Couldn’t feel.  Where was Ginny?  She’d been ahead of him; maybe she got away.  How could he find out?

There were people talking and now, and he recognized one of the voices as belongin to Crabbe.  “What do you want me to do with them?”

Neville was roughly lifted off the ground and shoved into Crabbe’s arms.  “Take him to Umbridge, and don’t let him get away.”

“All right,” Crabbed grunted, and he began to drag Neville through the hallway.

_Something’s off about this, but I can’t figure out what._

_Why are they taking me to Umbridge’s office?  Why can’t they just take points away from Gryffindor?_

_Where’s Ginny?_

_What’s going to happen to me?_

_I’m sorry, Mom._

_I’m sorry, Dad._

_I guess I’ll never make you proud._

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Neville had begun seeing thestrals at the age of twelve, right after his great-aunt died of a heart attack.  That didn’t make it any easier for him to sit on one and trust it to get him somewhere safely.  He wasn’t even sure what this was about, really, but what it all came down to was that he trusted Harry, and that meant that he was going with him.  Going to the Ministry, to save someone that he didn’t know, someone he’d never met.  Never mind that the Ministry was terrifying, and they could be expelled for leaving school.

Neville was a Gryffindor, dammit, and if there was one thing Gryffindor’s did, it was go in and fight where no one else was brave enough (or stupid enough) to enter.  It was how his parents had lost their minds, and how Harry had almost died multiple times, and how he, Neville, would die if it meant bettering the world.

Anyways, it turned out that thestrals felt much more secure of a thing to have underneath him than brooms did.

After a very long time, they landed, and Neville jumped down immediately, wondering what the next step was.  That’s all this was, separate steps that would maybe add up to something, only he couldn’t let himself think to hard about that because it became too much.  The first step had been the thestrals, and he’d conquered that.  He could do this next thing, and all the things after that.

One step at a time.

“Where do we go from here, then?” asked Luna, sounding markedly calmer than Neville felt. 

“Over here,” Harry said, patting his thestral and then running and pulling open the door of a  large, rectangular box, the likes of which Neville had often seen in Muggle London.  The next step, then, was this box, and as Neville squished himself in after the others, he wondered if all the steps would be this odd.

Harry squeezed in after the others and said, “Whoever’s nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two.”

Ron did so, and after a few seconds, a voice appeared.  “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic.  Please state your name and business.”

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood.  We’re here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first.”

“Thank you,” said the voice.  “Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.

Several badges came out; Hermione handed them to Harry.

“Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

“Fine!” Harry yelled.  “Now can we MOVE!”

The box they were in moved, and within a few seconds, the door opened into the Ministry of Magic.  “The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening,” said the voice, and they stumbled out of the box and into the Ministry.

The Atrium was completely empty, which alarmed Neville more than a little bit.  Harry led the way, confident in his destination, and all Neville could think of was the time his grandmother had dragged him here to complain to the Minister about the lack of funding going into St. Mungos brain research.  How humiliated he’d been to be seen with her at the time, to have everyone she talked to staring sympathetically at him.  How much he’d hated her that day, and hated his parents, too, for making him have to go through all of this, all because they couldn’t let go of the greater good.

If he died here, would his grandmother hate him for making her go through all that pain again?

If he left now, wouldn’t that be a betrayal to Harry, to all of his friends who were risking their lives to be there?

And at the same time, he didn’t quite believe it.  The security people could all be gone rescuing whoever Harry was scared was missing.  Harry could be wrong.  It could be a national holiday that was just declared without anyone’s knowledge.  Maybe he was misinterpreting the situation all together.

Just then, the reached a corridor and Harry stopped.  He sounded out of breath.  “Maybe… maybe a couple of people should stay here as a—as a lookout, and—”

“And how’re we going to let you know something’s coming?” asked Ginny.  “You could be miles away.”

“We’re coming with you, Harry,” said Neville, surprising himself with the confidence in his voice. 

“Let’s get on with it,” Ron said. 

Harry turned back to face the door, and it swung open.  Neville shivered and followed him through the door, not wanting to get too far behind.  They entered a dark, circular room with twelve doors, twelve different paths that they could take.  Twelve doors through which someone could come into the room and kill them.

Neville had always hated having that many options. 

“Someone shut the door,” Harry said. 

Neville responded automatically, pushing the door back.  The room became instantly dark, but at least there wasn’t that gaping hole behind him.  He was already aligning himself to the room, figuring out what could help them keep track of the doors they’d been through, when the room suddenly started spinning.  By the time it stopped, he had no idea which way they’d come any.

There went any notions he might have entertained about turning back.

After much discussion, they chose the door directly across from them.  Neville followed hesitantly, wondering why he was putting so much faith in a dream that Harry claimed to have had. 

Then again, if the dream _wasn’t_ true, there was nothing to be afraid of.

(Of course, by that logic, the very fact that Neville was so terrified probably meant the dream was true.)

The first room was much lighter than the one they were in, and Neville was disappointed by how quickly Harry ruled it out and sent them back into the darkness.  As they left the room, Hermione quickly performed a spell that left a red X across the door.  Neville breathed a secret sigh of relief.  If this all came to nothing, at least they wouldn’t go into the same rooms over an over for too long without finding the exit.

He had done the brave thing in coming, and now that he had all he could think about was leaving while he still could.

The next room looked like an amphitheater, with a raised monument of stone rising up from the center.  Neville stepped down it to look closer, wondering what it was about this that drew him in so much.  As he got closer, he could see that it was an archway, with a veil hanging in the center.  There was a faint murmur around it, and after listening closely, he realized that it was people whispering.  The whispering got louder and louder, and then there were distinct voices, rising above the others, reaching up to envelope him—

Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the veil, and he broke out of the trance.  He followed the others out of the room.

The next door wouldn’t open.

The one after that was the right one.

From that point on, everything was a blur, or maybe that was just how he remembered it.  All of the buildup was crystal clear, but once the actual fighting started, only bits and pieces made sense.  Bits and pieces that he would later struggle to put together in order, into a cohesive sequence of events to tell the Aurors, the reporters.

His grandmother.

His parents

The story that he would think of  often as the moment things changed for him.

And he could barely remember it in a way that made sense.

* * * * *

“Come on, Neville!” Hermione said, and she pushed him through the door and locked it with a spell and Merlin, he’d never run so fast in his life, it was like there was a knife in his lungs and rest, please, all he wanted to do was collapse, and maybe he did, and “Listen!”  “…the Dark Lord will not care for Nott’s injuries….”  “…split into pairs and search, and don’t forget, be gentle with Potter…”

“What do we do?” Hermione asked, but the question was wrong, it should have been what don’t we do, and then the answer would have been simple, we don’t die, that’s the answer, but instead, “Well, we don’t stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start.  Let’s get away from this door,” and more running, always running because who was he kidding, fight or flight fight or flight who would choose fight when all they were armed with was their insane father’s wand and Gryffindor courage, what was that against the footmen of death?

“Stand aside!” “ _Alohomora!_ ” and how ridiculous was it that a spell that implied no harm could sound like an Unforgiveable Curse when it took down the only thing separating you from death, but death was here, in the room, and it hadn’t bothered to knock, and “Check under the desks,” and “ _Stupefy!” “Avada—” “Expelliarmus!”_ and the last one was him, he had their wands, “Get out of the way, Harry!” and “ _Stupefy!” “Stup—” “Stupefy!”_ and the last one was Hermione, and he was saved, saved from having to fight a battle he didn’t know how to win.

* * * * *

“Longbottom?” repeated Bellatrix, looking almost manic in her glee.  “Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy…”

“I DOE YOU HAB!” Neville yelled, struggling against the men who were holding his arms in a death grip.  The effect of his words was lost through his inability to speak properly, but it didn’t matter. 

She would kill him anyways, and then she would kill all of them.

“Someone stun him!” a Death Eater called.

“No, no, no,” Bellatrix said slowly.  “No, let’s see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents… Unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy.”

“DON’B GIB ID DO DEM!  DON’B GIB ID TO DEM, HARRY!”  There was nothing now, nothing that was more important than the prophecy.  Nothing more important than stopping Voldemort.  That was all that was left.

Bellatrix drew closer.  Raised her wand.  “ _Crucio!”_

Neville screamed.

* * * * *

The Death Eater was coming in and out of the jar, infant, man, infant, man and Neville couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop this grotesque vision, and “You can’t hurt a baby!” of course you could, you could hurt anyone, just look at him, look at Harry, they were both hurt as babies, hurt by these same people, by this same man who was aging, dying, beginning again, and, “Come on!” and they were running out of the room, trying to lock the door, but it was too late, had been too late from the start, and “ _Impedimenta!”_ and Neville was flying, flying backwards and he hated flying, always had.

“WE’VE GOT HIM!  IN AN OFFICE OFF—” “ _Silencio!” “Petrificus Totalus!”_ and then just a slashing motion and “HERMIONE!” and he was crawling towards her, or maybe just towards the body that used to be hers, and there was a foot in his face and his nose, Merlin, his nose, and his wand, how would he fight, how would they ever get out _I want to get home I want to go home, Mommy, just take me home._

_Mommy?_

_I’m scared._

* * * * *

“Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville, and go!” a man yelled.

“Can you stand?” Harry yelled in Neville’s ear.  “Put your arm around my neck.”

As soon as he had done that, someone slammed into them, knocking them both to the ground.  Neville’s legs waved wildly above his head, and he crossed his fingers and hoped that he wouldn’t hit the prophecy. 

“The prophecy, give me the prophecy, Potter!” Lucius Malfoy snarled.

“No—get—off—me… Neville—catch it!”

He rolled the ball across the floor, and it took all of Neville’s strength to push himself around and catch it.  He cradled the orb to his chest, wondering what he’d done to be trusted with such power.

And such danger.

“This is it,” he whispered to his mom and dad, even though they weren’t there, even though if they were there they wouldn’t understand.  “This is the moment where I make you proud.”

 

* * * * *

Hermione was alive, had to be alive, and there was a pulse, but then why wasn’t she moving, why wouldn’t she move, _move, goddammit,_ and there were the others, but Ron wasn’t right, he was very, very wrong, and “Harry, we saw Uranus up close!  Get it, Harry?” and it was very, very wrong, and Ginny was hurt, and “I used the Reductor Curse to blow up Pluto in his face,” and why was Pluto in a planetarium, it wasn’t even a planet anymore, Neville remembered reading about it in the paper, or maybe he didn’t, and “ _There they are!”_ and of course they were, where else would they be?

“ _Colloportus!” “Colloportus!” “_ Luna, Neville, help me!” and what was the use, there were too many doors, too many too many “ _Colloportus!” “Collorportus!”  “Collo—aaaargh!”_ and “Get Potter!” and then there were the brains, so many brains, no, Ron, don’t touch the brains, don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch “Harry, look what’s happen—no—no, I don’t like it—no, stop— _stop_ — _”_

The brains didn’t stop.  You couldn’t stop thoughts.  Thoughts were everywhere, in everything, and “Harry, it’ll suffocate him!” that’s right, it would, thoughts could suffocate everything, wipe out everything that wasn’t themselves, and “STUBEFY!” but it didn’t work, how could it work when his nose hurt, hurt so badly that he couldn’t speak, and Harry was running, running, and “There are ten of us, and only one of you… or hasn’t Dumbledore ever taught you to count?” and “He’s dot alone!  He’s still god be!”  and then more talking, and then Bellatrix Lestrange, and “I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy…” and pain, more pain, always pain.

* * * * *

“Come on!” Harry said, trying to keep Neville up.  “Just try and push with your legs—”

Neville opened his mouth to say that he _was_ trying, but then Harry pushed, and his robes tore, dropping the prophecy from his pocket.  Neville watched it fall in slow motion, wishing he was able to just reach down and grab it, hoping maybe it wouldn’t fall all the way, when one of his feet kicked it.  It flew across the room dramatically and smashed.

A figure appeared out of the orb and began to speak, but her words were lost beneath the sounds of the battle going on around them.    “Harry, I’b sorry!”  Neville yelled, close to tears.  The whole reason they’d been tricked into coming here, the only thing to make this experience worthwhile, and he’d just wrecked it.  Just like he wrecked most things he came into contact with.  Maybe he should have stayed at Hogwarts when Harry asked him to.  “I’b so sorry, Harry, I didn’d bean do—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Harry shouted.  “Just try to stand, let’s get out of—”

Suddenly, over Harry’s shoulder, Neville saw the person he most wanted to see out of anyone in the whole world.  The person who would make everything all right.  They were safe now.

“ _Dubbledore!”_

* * * * *

Afterwards, the Healers at St. Mungo’s told him that he’d experienced acute trauma and was expected to show signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.  That, they explained, accounted for the strange way the events took place in his memory.  That explained the chaos and mixed chronology, and why neither of them went away when the memory was viewed in a Pensieve.  The memories were scarred into his brain this way, and scar tissue was some of the toughest tissue there was.  To Neville, this just sounded like the kind of things Healers say when the don’t really know the answers.


	10. Epilogue

 

“Hi, Mum.  Hi, Dad,” Neville said, leaning forward in the uncomfortable chair to get a better look at them.  “I know it’s been a while since I visited.  I guess I just had a lot to work through.”

It still hurt, seeing them like this.  Neville almost cried, but then took a deep breath.  It wasn’t that he had anything against crying, but he needed to see this through.

“I broke Dad’s wand.  It wasn’t on purpose, and it was for a good reason, but… I’m still sorry.  I know you did some great things with that wand, Dad.

“I wish I’d gotten to know you.  Sometimes it really makes me angry that I didn’t get to know my parents.  Everyone else grew up knowing what their parents were like, but I’ve always had to imagine things.  It’s harder than I want it to be.”

His grandmother sat primly in a chair, not wanting to interrupt Neville when he had finally agreed to come back.  Neville knew she didn’t understand, really, but it was okay.  She didn’t have to understand for it to be valid.

“I didn’t ever think about how hard fighting must have been for you.  How scary every moment is, when you don’t know if you’ll live or die.  I understand, now.  I only had the Cruciatus Curse put on me once, and I feel like it was enough to drive me insane.  But it was important to try.  I understand why you did it now.”

His mother got up out of bed and handed him a chewing gum wrapper. 

“I’m still angry that you left me.  I know I shouldn’t be, but I don’t understand why you kept fighting when you had a baby.  Wasn’t it your responsibility to look after me above anything?  I know someone had to save the world, but I don’t understand why it had to be you, or then.”

His mother looked like she could almost understand him.  Then she toddled back into bed and pulled up the covers.

Neville turned to his grandmother.  “I think I’m ready to go now.”

On his way out, he dropped the wrapper in the rubbish bin.  No matter how many wrappers he got, they would never take the place of a mother to him.  It was time to stop assigning meaning to _things_ , and to start paying attention to life.


End file.
